


Not Again

by Originia



Category: Senyuu.
Genre: Gen, In three parts, a bunch of Ross introspection, contemplating how his friends always seem to die around him, it's actually not as sad as it seems, rchimedes is a douche, this was posted in tumblr and now I'm positing it here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:31:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2443844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Originia/pseuds/Originia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alba died, Ross was struck by the overwhelming notion of <em>not again</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Again

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda the first thing I wrote for Senyuu. Posted it on tumblr under the name '[comeonblub](comeonblub.tumblr.com)'. Thought it needed a more permanent location. So here it is.

When Alba died, Ross was struck by the overwhelming notion of _not again_. 

That condensed blackness – those inky, tangible shadows that the demon of December wielded – it had torn through the boy like he was nothing more than the dry dust blowing around the rocky plateau they stood in. One second Alba had been there, smiling in that kind but confused manner he so often did, and the next he was lying lifeless in a pool of his own blood. It had been quick. It had been unexpected. But it surely couldn't have been painless. 

And no matter how long Ross stood there, no matter how hard he stared, he couldn't seem to make sense of the scene before him. 

It wasn't that he couldn't cope with Alba's sudden death. It was that despite how long Ross looked, all he could see there lying on the ground was a different brown haired boy, struck down by a different kind of unexpectedness, sporting a different but just as fatal wound. 

It had happened again. An innocent causality. Occurring so fast and so abruptly Ross had had no choice but to bear witness, knowing there was no way he could have possibly prevented its outcome. 

But unlike last time, Ross wasn't going to stand by helplessly. He could fix it. He could get revenge. He had been powerless before – a weak coward, too afraid to further lose anyone else he had once considered dear – but this time was different. 

He could fix it, and so Ross did. 

He released the seal, turned back time, and let Alba live. 

* * *

When Rchimedes grinned, blinked his eyes, and suddenly Alba _wasn't there_ , Ross was overcome by the fierce despair of _not again_. 

This time, he was immediately transported back to that dusty plain, back when was still just soldier Ross and not hero Creasion, and he had seen his friend die. 

Because that's what Alba was now. His friend. He hadn't been certain of it before, and honestly he didn't quite know what Alba himself made of their relationship, but to Ross, Alba was his friend. 

The only one besides Crea to have ever willingly stuck with him for as long as he had.

Most left. Most didn't care. Alba had done neither. He had not only stayed when given the chance to leave, but had given up over a year of his time to try and save Ross from the dimensional rift. 

Ross had been, much to his surprise, rendered speechless when he had first found that out. He truly hadn't thought Alba had cared that much. He had barely thought Alba had cared for him at all.

He later tried to play off his surprise as some kind of joke. Temporary muteness. Funny. 

He didn't think Alba had been fooled. 

Apparently the brown-haired boy knew more about him than he had thought. 

But now he was gone. Rchimedes never hesitated to kill, finding too much satisfaction in the swell of hatred that usually followed the action. He'd never make room to care about something as sacred as a single life.

Especially not when Ross himself was part of the equation. There was a sick kind of enjoyment Rchimedes had from Ross' specific brand of despair. 

And Ross was certain the demon lord had made some kind of connection between Alba and him. That the younger boy had been someone special to him. As special as Crea had been, back then. And back then, it had been Rchimedes' intention to kill. 

Ross had been weak and powerless the first time. The second time, he'd had to sacrifice his freedom to reverse the death. 

This time, with Alba gone in the blink of an eye, Ross was painfully back in the realm of powerlessness. 

He tried. He tried to draw up the necessary power for time reversal, but it was useless. So then he did the next best thing, which he had been incapable of with Crea's loss – try and get revenge. But still his weakness dragged him down. He was without mana, and he was nowhere near powerful enough to defeat Rchimedes in strength alone, without a weapon, without any armour. 

And he was surely not strong enough when every action he made, ever thought towards revenge, was all driven by desperation and hatred. 

Rchimedes thrived. And within that glee at Ross' powerlessness, the demon lord divulged what he thought was the winning move. 

Alba wasn't dead. 

The boy was just stranded alone in the depths of the dimensional rift. 

Ross felt hope. Oh Rchimedes tried to gloat at his magnificence. The boy was lost, it'd take years to find him – would Ross really search every inch of the rift's unimaginable distance just to find him? His friend would be dead long before he would ever be found. 

But Alba wasn't dead. There was a chance. And that was all Ross needed to hear. The echoing not again faded from his mind and a new purpose took its place. 

Luckily for Ross, Alba managed to find his way back on his own. 

* * *

When Alba was thought to be the only one powerful enough to challenge the newly revived demon lord, Ross was already falling into the spiral of _not again_. 

He could already picture it, Alba going up against shadow guy, the new demon lord, and that tanned demon. The first two Ross figured Alba could handle. He was coming into his power well, and Ross knew the other boy had already gotten the basics of combat magic under control. 

But the tanned guy – the demon of November, Ross thought he was called – there was something not quite right about him. Something... older than the others. Ross had felt it first in the dimensional rift, back when he had been about to seal Rchimedes for the second time. 

And then he had felt it again, of course, when he had gone up against that demon and nearly died.

Ross had had his power, he'd had his mana. Given, he hadn't been at full strength, and he'd been using the mana-maker improperly, but he had thought it would have been enough to handle the two demons. 

But he had lost. He had lost to that November guy. 

So yes, Ross figured Alba could handle the shadow demon. And he'd even hazard that he could take on the new demon lord as well.

But then Alba would be up against November, and Ross could already see in his mind's eye that body getting cleaved in half again, or that life once more disappearing into nothingness. 

He didn't have the ability to save him if it all went wrong. 

He didn't have the strength to withstand being powerless to act. 

Alba thought Ross was holding him back because he was too weak – that Ross still thought him as useless as that day they had first set off together, hero and soldier. 

But truth was something far simpler, and something Ross would never be caught saying aloud. Alba had, somehow or other, become someone precious to him, and Ross didn't think he could handle believing his friend had died, right in front of him, for a third and perhaps final time.

And so Ross convinced Alba to train with the second Rchimedes. To practice fighting, to learn more about combat, and more importantly, about defence. It was all useful information, building experience and the like.

But honestly, what Ross was really trying to secure was _time_. He needed time. Time to prepare, time to build a new, more powerful mana-maker. One that he could use, if the worst truly did come to worst, to bring Alba back. Because Ross refused to be overcome by that fierce hopelessness of not again.

He would do all that he could so that he wouldn’t have to stand by helplessly, powerlessly, while someone precious fought for their life. Ross wanted to make sure that he, Alba, and whoever else they picked up along the way could overcome it.

Because Ross refused to let his friends die. Not again. Never again.


End file.
